


Subjugation

by ClutchHedonist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Clawing, Face Punching, M/M, Tentabulges, Tentacle Sex, bloody lips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:33:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6269818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClutchHedonist/pseuds/ClutchHedonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee, rapidly sobering, experiences his first taste of subjugation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subjugation

Everything is too bright.

Everything is too bright and too dry, and his mouth is too dry, and his skin is so dry that he can imagine it crinkling and shuddering away in strips every time he flinches. He pictures sloughing it all off, paper-thin, and leaving behind only wet, malleable, half-purple flesh. His claws curl into one bicep at the thought, and he prods and tests at the skin there. Under his fingertips, it feels so much more vital than it feels inside it.

It has been three days (weeks months it feels like and he’s ready to believe it). Not since he began running out – that was weeks ago, and he’s been cutting them into smaller and smaller pieces since then. Three days since it was gone entirely, and his teeth itch.

At first, it had seemed like everything was moving until he looked at it. Always at the edge of his vision, things twisting, hissing softly until he turned and it was a chair or a pile of clothes or the computer screen. Now, everything in his mouth is sand –his tongue, the worst of all – and he hasn’t left his respiteblock since yesterday morning. They’ve noticed. They have to have noticed, and he hates them for noticing or for not noticing or for the sound of their low, solid heartbeats through the laboratory walls.

His fingers are twisted in a mess of black, and he’s pulling himself forward by it and holding himself in place against the floor. And maybe the clattering is his knuckles, shivering against the tile. But it’s too loud and too high up, and he’s groaning as the knock at the door repeats itself.

“gO aWay.”

There is a long pause, an almost penitent silence, “D – > …Highb100d, you did not eat anything today.”

Gamzee lets out a small huff, and his claws scrape against his scalp, “mAn, BrO, i Am WiCkEd NoT fEeLiNg ThAt ShIt.” He groans.

“D –> The fact that you cannot even feed yourself is an embarrassment to those of us who maintain ourselves with the decorum e%pected of our b100d.” Even behind the door, Gamzee can sense the tension in the tone, in the strained arms and curled fists it precedes. With a sigh, he rolls onto his back.

“lIsTeN, mAn, YoU kNoW tHaT i GoT mUcH mOtHeRfUcKiN’ wIcKeD cLoWn LoVe FoR yOu, BuT mY tHiNk PaN iS aLl OuT oF wHaCk AnD i DoN’t GoT mUcH i CaN dO bUt SaY i’M wIcKeD sOrRy AnD aLl tHaT sHiT.” He can feel the words thrumming against his temples, dripping through his teeth and onto the floor.

“D –> I was not informed of your illness.” Equius replies, “…I e%pect that it is not serious. That is, I hope that your condition is not poor. …It is not poor, is it?”

Maybe if he rolls onto one side - …but it’s worse that way, half dim and half light, and he falls onto his stomach, “iT’s MoThErFuCkIn’ ShItTy.”

Gamzee can hear him out there, shifting from foot to foot, “D –> …Please forgive my earlier impudence. Perhaps it would be prudent to inc100d another opinion in your evaluation if your illness seems serious. I could e%amine you. That is, if it would be a%eptable to you, highb100d.”

“cOmE iN, bRo, YoU dOn’T gOtTa’ Be AlL aSkInG pErMiSsIoN.”

“D –> No, no, it would be una%eptable to enter the space of one of such rich b100d without asking.” Regardless, the door clicks open, and dark trainers swim into Gamzee’s view, accompanied by a small gasp, “D –> Is this…highb100d, how long have you been…have you been on the ground? You cannot-… it is unfitting.”

Equius is kneeling, now, and Gamzee can see a sliver of grey knee at the corner of his vision, “fOrEvEr, MaN. fUcK, i DoN’t KnOw.”

One rough palm presses up against his forehead. Gamzee reluctantly releases his grip on himself, lets his head droop into the gesture with a soft grumble. Equius supports the other troll without a second thought.

“D –> You do not seem uncommonly warm.” He notes as he rolls the listless body into his arms. The sentiment elicits only a series of small murmurs in reply. Equius rises and is halfway across the room before he pauses.

“D –> Highb100d. Your recuperacoon appears to be empty.”

For a moment, Gamzee is too busy curling one set of claws into the blueblood’s shirt to respond. Then, through a mouth too oddly full of teeth and tongue, he mutters, “fInIsHeD iT.”

“D –> Finished …you have consumed an entire recuperacoon of sopor slime?” Equius’s nostrils flare at the thought, “D –> You have consumed the entirety of your sleeping space. I cannot possibly describe the e%tent of my disgust.”

A small hiss escapes the other troll, “mAn, I aM aLl MoThErFuCkIn’ NoT uP fOr tHiS kInD oF wIcKeD hArShNeSs RiGhT nOw.”

The highblood’s weight in his arms, against his chest, is uncommonly pronounced, and behind cracked glasses, Equius’s eyes search for an alternate place to lay him. The room is a maelstrom of empty bottles and tins, clubs and horns and every other object of faith that the other troll has been able to scrape up or save strewn into the farthest corners.

“D –> Highb100d…” He shifts the limp frame against himself, and Gamzee settles his head against one collarbone, “D –> I cannot understand how you e%pect to sleep in such filthy quarters.”

There is no reply, save the slow, steady breath against his shoulder. Brows furrowing, Equius hazards a glance at the other man. Gamzee’s heavy lids have fallen almost closed, only the smallest crescent of saffron lingering beneath thick lashes. His fingers have formed a loose fist in Equius’s shirt, and through it the blueblood can feel them trembling just faintly. In fact, a low tremor seems to be running the entire length of the body in his arms.

This is unacceptable.

With a decisive huff, Equius gathers the other troll’s limbs more securely in his own and, pushing the door open with one foot, strides into the hall. When Gamzee’s head lolls back at the motion, he nudges it into place once more with his shoulder.

“bRo, WhErE aRe We GoInG?” The voice against his chest is small, dazed.

“D –> Your condition is una%ecptable.” Equius replies curtly, “D –> Such a state is unbefitting. You will need sleep.”

“i DoN’t WaNnA’ mOtHeRfUcKiN’ sLeEp, I jUsT-”

Equius purses his lips, “D –> …Yes, yes it is not proper for one of my station to tell you what you need, highb100d. I humbly request that you rest.” He takes the small grumblings that follow as agreement. A few more steps –blissfully unhindered by any of the others aboard their floating purgatory- bring him to his own respiteblock. With another small nudge of one foot, he is inside.

For a moment, he pauses to consider the implications. The highblood, here, taking refuge in his block – if they were to find out, the remarks from the others would no doubt be hopelessly lewd. But Gamzee is stirring against his chest, and the whisper of trembling…is it getting worse? Perhaps he is imagining it. No, it is getting worse. And even if it is not, its presence in the first place is certainly reason enough for concern. Reason enough for this …this unheard of breach of protocol.

Reason enough, then, to be laying the highblood, eyes rolled back until the purple irises are just barely visible against the upper lids, over the makeshift human-styled bed in the corner of his room. Gamzee shudders, long fingers grasping at the other troll as their bodies part.

“cOlD…” He whines, and Equius swears that he can feel an audible thud within his chest.

“D –> …I am sorry you find the temperature inadequate, highb100d. Perhaps you-“

“cOmE hErE, mAn.”

To be fair, it is a direct order from one of distinctly higher lineage than his own. To ignore it would be nigh treasonous. To refuse would be even worse. And so, after a long glance, Equius toes off his trainers. By the time they are arranged neatly at the foot of the bed, Gamzee has curled himself almost inextricably into the blankets. But nonetheless, Equius finds a small corner of loose fabric, and, teeth pressed against his bottom lip, he slides beneath the mountain of bedcovers.

Barely a moment elapses before gangly arms are thrown up around his neck, and Gamzee’s sickly sweet scent forces itself into his nostrils as the other troll clutches his body to his own.

“f-FuCk…”

And now Equius is certain that the increased shuddering was not a figment of his (dare he? - hopeful) imagination, because those limbs, that long, slender body is clattering up against his like a glass overfilled with ice. The highblood is panting, groaning, burying his face against his shoulder, and Equius is not altogether uncertain that this is not the most heinously debauched position in which he has ever seen a member of the upper castes.

“D –> Highb100d-“

He has one set of fingers gnarled in his own hair, now, and he pulls with such vigor that Equius briefly considers covering the hand with his own, closing it around it to keep him from injury.

“fUcK fUcK fUcK fuck FUCK!”

Equius’s mouth opens and closes, once, twice, “D –> Highb100d, although your state e%plains your increased profanity, there is no need to-“

“don’t tell me what to do.”

The blueblood blinks. For a few long seconds, he isn’t certain that he’s heard correctly. He gapes at the shuddering heap in his arms, “D –> …What?”

“DON’T YOU MOTHERFUCKING TELL ME WHAT TO MOTHERFUCKING DO.”

If the volume of it were not already enough to make him flinch, the flurry of claws that follow it would most decidedly do the trick. There’s a ringing in one ear where he thinks that the heel of a hand has struck, and in his left eye, a sudden splotch of blue is trickling between his lashes. A sliver of sanguine flavor in his mouth speaks to what he imagines, from the feel of it, is a laceration across both lips. The silence after the outburst is filled with the highblood’s soft panting and what Equius prays isn’t an audible slow, slick whisper as he feels his bulge slither through its cloacal slit.

Despite numerous brushes with ardent contrition, Equius has never had reason for complete prostration before this moment. He is scrabbling from the bed before he is conscious of the motion, and the shiver of satisfaction that quakes up through him as his knees thud against the metal floor is almost enough to bring him to early completion. Swallowing, he places his palms at the edge of the bed, inclines his head to the exact angle that he knows from proper breeding shows only the most sincere penitence.

“D –> Highb100d.“ He breathes, the heat of a dizzying indigo flush crawling over his features, “D –> F-Forgive me.”

Somewhere within him, Gamzee can feel a low growl shaking the curves of his lungs. There’s blood on his hands, –oh fuck blood- and on his clothes and in pinprick spatters over the sheets, and there’s blood pooling steadily just beneath Equius’s mouth, and suddenly he is hungrier than he has been in days. Something feral, an instinct more earnest than he can remember ever having had before, smells the subjugation in the wounds. He slides forward in skin suddenly more his own than it has ever been, and winds one set of fingers in the blueblood’s long hair. The sound of a bitten-back gurgle low in Equius’s throat does not escape him. With vice-like grip, he turns the other troll’s face up to his own. The urge to examine his work, to explore this new hunger, is too much for the last protestations of his fading buzz to push back. As his long tongue flicks up against the underside of the blueblood’s torn bottom lip, the desperate pitch of Equius’s hips brings the sight of his bulge, twisting against the front of his shorts, into Gamzee’s view.

“stand up.” His fist uncurls, and he releases his hold on the other troll.

Equius’s obedience is immediate, almost unimaginably blissful, although his knees buckle at the sudden movement. But when Gamzee’s fingers twine into the hem of his shorts, when they play open the zipper and drag down both the shorts and the underwear beneath, they pull a shuddering gasp with them.

“D–> P-Please, highb100d, you cannot debaseyourself in such a-“

Gamzee’s eyes snap up to meet the other blueblood’s, “SHUT UP.”

And he does.

Equius is not certain that he is in control. Of the situation, of course not. It wouldn’t be his place. But of himself, of his own body, it worries him. Although on some level it is freeing to think of it as some alien, uncontrollable entity when he cannot keep his bulge from slithering desperately between Gamzee’s fingers, nuzzling against his palm, exploring the notch of bone at his wrist. He is wet with slick, blueish precome long before Gamzee rises, shedding his own clothing along the way, pushing Equius’s shirt lazily over his shoulders. He is shaking merely from the sight of it, even before Gamzee sets a hand in the small of his back, brings their hips together, and allows his own bulge, turgidly purple, to twist itself around Equius’s length.

“D –> Highb100d!” There is nothing more appalling than this, than the sight of both of them locked glossily around one another between the pair of arching hips, than this absolute and utter degradation of one so clearly above himself in the most intimate of ways, than this –

He shut his eyes to keep himself from coming. Gamzee’s breath is low and harsh beside his ear, and just the sound of it keeps Equius at the edge.

“tell me what you want.” The highblood hisses.

Equius struggles to force a sound, any sound, up through his throat, and the other troll lets out a dry chuckle. His hands, all claws, find Equius’s hair, thread themselves through it and pull until the feel of it nearly overwhelms Equius’s ability to see.

“TELL ME WHAT YOU MOTHERFUCKING WANT.”

A gasp quakes through him. For a moment, his hands move to grasp Gamzee’s wrists, but fall useless to his waist upon consideration, “D –> H-Highb100d, please-“

“do you want to fuck me?”

Equius’s knees threaten to give out. With a wide smirk, Gamzee digs his claws into the other troll’s sides. A single tug is all it takes to send both of them sprawling back over the bed. Equius barely has a moment to catch himself before Gamzee’s mouth is attacking his, all teeth and tongue and blood hunger, and his torn lips can’t help but react in kind. Between them, Gamzee’s bulge has curled around his completely, and beneath its slow, firm strokes, Equius is harder than he has ever been.

“WELL?” There is a note of mocking in the tone, and Gamzee’s legs open wide with the inquiry.

The motion is small at first, timid, the most delicate of explorations. Equius’s bulge slips from Gamzee’s grip, presses almost without his permission at the other troll’s entrance. His hips shake violently as he tries to keep himself back.

“D –> Highb100d, the insolence it would be for me to-“

“do it.”

There is no time for consideration of disobedience. Too quickly, his bulge buries itself within the other troll, slick and sudden and Equius is sure he must be dying. Gamzee contracts around him at the intrusion, and it’s all he can do to keep from throwing his hips forward, ripping into the body beneath him with every ounce of strength he possesses just to feel it squirm once more. Dripping steadily now, Gamzee’s bulge trails downward to curl against the base of Equius’s.

“HARD.” He growls, a downward thrust of hips punctuating the demand.

Fingers trembling in earnest, Equius slides his hands along the highblood’s back. Just beneath the surface he imagines pure, rich rivers of purple, only purple, trailing downward to mix so suddenly and lewdly with indigo. All of the warmth of this body, so immaculate until he spares a glance between the legs, at the absolute violation of his bulge forcing apart soaking flesh. At Gamzee’s bulge, sleek with indigo and squirming to grasp at the flesh it should by all rights revile. At the highblood spread beneath him, twisting, cursing, shuddering around the fullness of his length.

Gamzee is a whirlwind of hips and claws, need and desperation, and he pistons up against the blueblood with abandon. The feel of this, this complete and utter submission to his needs, to his desires, against every moral code that the other troll has spouted at him time and time again, the bulge thrusting and coiling within him, seeking out every inch of sensitive flesh, this is the finest form of subjugation that he has ever known. The friction of it is everywhere – inside him, against him, sliding through his curled bulge. Gamzee lets his head drop back into the mess of covers and groans in delight.

The sound is too much for Equius to bear. The satisfaction in it, the utter shamelessness it suggests – every muscle within him tenses all at once. He cannot see, cannot hear, cannot smell or feel anything but Gamzee, and the force of his climax knocks him down onto the other troll outright. Beneath him, Gamzee is almost indignant until the motion forces the absolute fullness of Equius’s bulge into him. He is coming, then, toes curling and claws splitting small blue holes into grey flesh.

When they have spent themselves in and on each other, when the sheets and their bodies are smeared in purple and indigo, Gamzee can feel himself falling. The twinge of guilt that the hunger pressed low in his stomach rises up, and slowly, timidly, he rests one palm on Equius’s shoulder.

“bRo, I…i DoN’t-…”

Equius swallows his breath long enough to speak, “D –> Please rest, highb100d. If you wish to do so, we will speak of it when you are refreshed.”

With an uncertain nod, Gamzee allows himself to fall back into the stained covers. The scent of their blood, he finds, is oddly soporific in its own way.


End file.
